


Very Unnecessary

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bondage, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone wants Ryan's words, except Mikey Way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Very Unnecessary

There is very little Ryan hates more than this question. "I don't know," he says awkwardly for the millionth time. "I guess a lot of the songs stem from my life experiences, and things that I've observed in other people's lives. Mostly they just come to me, though. I don't really know."

"I think he writes most of his best lyrics when he's sulking," says Spencer. "If you want to inspire him, just steal his Doritos or something. He'll throw a hissy fit and then hide in a corner and pound out a hit single."

Ryan rolls his eyes, half annoyed and half grateful. None of them enjoy interviews, but he and Brendon tend to get the worst of it, so the others try to bail them out when they can. The problem with this is that Spencer is, on occasion, a little bitch.

The rest of the interview continues to be boring, as usual. The last time an original, thought-provoking, not-overly-invasive question came up in an interview was four months ago. Ryan knows because he circled the date in red on the calendar and declared it a holiday. He picks at his cuticles and answers on autopilot until their time is up.

My Chemical Romance is waiting backstage for their turn in the interrogation room, all flopped over a sofa. Ryan's seen them around on tours and at events, but they've never officially met. Because he's sleep-deprived and grouchy, the first thing out of his mouth is, "Man, you're lucky you have a ready-made answer to that one. The whole 9/11, saving lives thing. Maybe I should just make up a good story."

Gerard Way looks up at him, bemused, and Ryan swears at himself internally. "I mean. Not that you. Um."

"Panic at the Disco, right?" asks Gerard.

Ryan nods. "Ryan Ross. Sorry, kind of frustrated. It's been a long day."

"It's all good," says Gerard, smiling. He gestures to his bandmates, introducing each one like Ryan doesn't obviously already know who they are. They all greet him politely except Mikey, who just holds up a hand in a half-assed wave.

He's the only one who makes lasting eye contact, though, like he actually gives enough of a shit to match Ryan's face to his name.

***

The next time Ryan sees Mikey, they end up squished together so closely he could probably count Mikey's ribs just by the feel of them pressed against his arm. They're eating dinner together because Brendon and Frank hit it off and refused to be separated. The Italian restaurant Gerard insisted on only had one table available, a corner booth, so all nine members of the two bands are crammed in onto one bench. It's a tight fit, but Ryan can't honestly say he minds.

Brendon is on Ryan's left and Frank is on Mikey's right. The two of them spend the entire meal chattering loudly across Ryan and Mikey about the latest episode of American Idol and the reactions of Pop Rocks with various alcoholic beverages. After the third time Ryan opens his mouth to contribute to the conversation and Brendon talks right over him, Mikey glances at him sympathetically, twitching his cheek. Ryan flashes a resigned smile back at him and takes another bite of his tortellini, doodling on his napkin with a felt pen.

"TWISTER TOURNAMENT!" hollers Frank the second he's done eating. He and Brendon wriggle out underneath the table and shoot out the door together, leaving room on the bench for Ryan and Mikey to shift apart from each other.

Neither of them moves.

They stay there, pressed together from shoulder to foot, while the others finish up and take off for the hotel around the corner, each depositing cash in a messy pile in the middle of the table. When it's just the two of them left, Mikey deliberately places his hand on Ryan's knee.

It's a question. Ryan answers it by covering Mikey's hand with his own and moving it further up his thigh.

Mikey picks up the pen Ryan was doodling with and writes "328" on Ryan's wrist. He tosses a couple twenties on the pile and slides out of the booth. Ryan waits a few minutes, fiddling with his wallet and adding a few digits to his wrist to turn the room number into a fake phone number in case anyone sees it. Then he takes a deep breath, checks to be sure the stack of cash is enough to cover the bill, and follows.

Mikey's waiting when Ryan knocks. He grabs his wrist, drawing him inside, and pushes him up against the wall by the door to kiss him fiercely. He seems to have a plan, so Ryan relaxes and lets him do what he wants. It's nice to be with someone who's even more well-known than he is. He hadn't realized it, but sex has become tense with expectations since Panic made it big. He's a rock star, he's an experience, he's a story for the bar. It's a lot to ask of a still-teenage cock.

But Mikey isn't going to brag about having seduced Ryan Ross. He doesn't need Ryan's fame by association--he's got plenty of his own, and if he's going to tell stories, he's probably got better ones. This is just sex. Ryan hasn't had sex without subtext in a long time.

Mikey pulls off both their shirts and guides Ryan backwards to the bed. Ryan lays his arms down above his head on the comforter. Mikey licks down his neck and chest, sucking and then biting his nipple. Ryan hisses in pain, and Mikey lets go with his teeth, then softly kisses the nipple instead of apologizing.

It's not until then that Ryan realizes they haven't spoken a single word to each other.

***

They fuck every now and then after that, whenever the opportunity arises. The silence turns into an inside joke between them that no one else seems to notice. It stays like that, a standing casual sex arrangement, until Panic splits.

Suddenly everyone in the universe is pounding down Ryan's door, demanding to know why he left the band and what his plans are and whether Spencer and Brendon hate him and when he and Jon will be releasing an album, and he just can't stand it anymore, so he leaves his cell phone on his dining room table and hops a plane to New York.

He swings by a video store on the way to Mikey's apartment from the airport and picks up Portal and Boondock Saints. Mikey isn't home, so he camps out on the floor in front of his door for a few hours, staring at the wall. The boredom comes as a relief after the last few days.

Around eight, Mikey comes home. Ryan holds out his offerings hopefully. Mikey must have heard about the split, but he doesn't bat an eyelash, just unlocks the door and stands back to let him in like Ryan shows up on his doorstep all the time.

Ryan picked Portal because he's heard that it's a great game, but he didn't know it was single-player. Mikey doesn't seem to mind. They pass the controller back and forth, helping each other through the tough parts, and they make it to the end by midnight. Ryan stretches as the credits roll. It was fun, but it made him really crave some cake.

Well, why not? He leans over to Mikey's laptop, perched on the arm of the couch, and types "cake recipe" into the search bar. Mikey peers over his shoulder, laughs, takes the laptop into the kitchen and starts digging through his cupboards for ingredients.

Ryan has never baked a cake before in his life, or done much of anything in a kitchen. He makes a huge mess with the eggs, although it's not his fault. Clearly the eggs are defective, just crinkling in his hand instead of breaking cleanly in half like they're supposed to. Mikey patiently wipes up after him, then shows him how to crack them properly. He stands behind Ryan while he tries again, getting it right this time. Mikey places a hand on his hip and kisses his shoulder gently, like a reward. Ryan grins as he throws away the eggshells.

When the batter is safely in the oven, they pop in the movie and curl up together on the couch. Mikey's hand rests behind Ryan's neck, toying with the light brown scarf he's wearing. While Connor and Murphy start arguing over whether they'll need rope to kill the Russian mobsters, Mikey gently unties the scarf, wraps it around his own wrists, and meets Ryan's eyes.

Ryan takes the scarf and ties the ends together, tightly securing Mikey's wrists. Mikey clasps his fingers together and sets his bound hands in his lap, resting his head on Ryan's shoulder.

The timer in the kitchen goes off.

Mikey looks up at Ryan, waiting, like it's up to him whether to untie the scarf. He's surprised to find that he really doesn't want to. Mikey looks good like that, like he wants Ryan to make his decisions for him, like he'll stay still and quiet and let Ryan loose on his kitchen alone if that's what Ryan wants.

Frosting can't be that hard, can it? He's already seen the movie, so he leaves it playing while he goes to take the cake out of the oven. The pan nearly burns his fingers twice while he's getting the cake out of it and onto the cooling rack. The frosting is harder than the recipe makes it seem, and the electric mixer makes a bigger mess than the eggs did, but eventually Ryan produces a recognizable if somewhat lopsided jelly-filled, chocolate-frosted cake.

He cuts a slice and carries it out to the living room on a plate. Mikey is still sitting in the same place, hands still tied, waiting.

"Well, name one thing you're gonna need this stupid fuckin' rope for," Connor is saying on the screen, and Ryan smiles and feeds Mikey a bite.

***

A month later, when the media has moved on and Ryan's life has settled down a little, Mikey e-mails him a link to a picture of a boy wearing panties. The boy is thin and spindly, with shaggy brown hair and full lips. Mikey must have sifted through a lot of pictures before he found one that looked so much like Ryan.

Well, if they're sharing kinks now. Ryan e-mails back a link to the Wikipedia article on erotic asphyxiation. Mikey responds with a link to the subsection of the article on accidental death, which doesn't bode well for Ryan's chances of fantasy fulfillment, but he places an online order from Victoria's Secret anyway.

The underwear in Mikey's picture is lavender, with a lacy strip around the waist and ribbon bows threaded through the lace. The back isn't visible, but extrapolating from the hemlines, odds are good it's a thong. Ryan goes for something a little less frilly. He wants to make Mikey happy, but he also wants to be able to walk without ripping anything. Mikey will just have to live with it.

Mikey, as it turns out, has no objections whatsoever.

Ryan's in town on business, or what passes for business in the music industry, which means his evenings and weekends are booked but he's free during the day. Mikey's schedule is opposite to his, so unless Ryan wants to share his brand-new skivvies with the rest of My Chem, he has only one choice.

"Mmnghf," Mikey mumbles when Ryan slips into his bed. He paws at his eyes and glances at the clock, which reads 5:26 AM. Ryan tries to kiss him in apology, but Mikey dodges and grabs an Altoid from the tin on the nightstand before letting him. Ryan laughs, licking the mint from his mouth. He runs a hand down Mikey's body and under the covers, discovering only skin, which suits his purposes just fine.

Mikey is sleepy and lax, letting Ryan take the lead, until he dips a hand beneath the waistband of Ryan's jeans and feels the satin. His drooping eyes snap open and he pounces on top, curling one hand possessively behind Ryan's head and investigating the contents of his pants with the other.

He gets Ryan's outer clothes off impressively quickly, tossing them aside onto the floor, and squirms down the bed to inspect Ryan's purchase. The panties are dark green, cut more modestly than a thong but definitely still feminine. Mikey looks up, eyes shining. He runs a fingertip across the soft satin, then his lips. Ryan's cock is hardening, stretching the fabric away from his skin. Mikey moves back up to kiss him roughly, stroking him through the satin. It feels weird, not like anything Ryan has ever rubbed against his genitals before, but it's smooth and pleasant and Mikey is clearly getting off on it like nothing else.

Mikey lifts the elastic edge around Ryan's leg and slips his own cock under the panties. Ryan lifts his hips, pressing up against the warmth of Mikey's body. Mikey moves his hand away and Ryan whines in protest, but he shuts up immediately when Mikey wraps his fingers firmly around Ryan's throat.

Mikey smiles down at him. Ryan knows what his face must look like: surprised, grateful, eager. They should give up the silence to negotiate a safeword, he thinks, but then realizes that he wouldn't be able to talk with his windpipe closed anyway. He'll just have to trust Mikey.

He does trust Mikey.

Ryan closes his eyes and tilts his chin up. The grip on his neck tightens. His air supply isn't completely cut off yet, but it's limited, and he can feel the blood starting to pound in his head. He slips a hand between their bodies and starts jerking off furiously--he knows it isn't a good idea to do this for long, and he really wants to come with Mikey's fingers around his throat.

Mikey relaxes his hand for a moment, lets Ryan get a good lungful of air, then squeezes again. Ryan's head is starting to feel light and his head is tingling, dizzy, like an orgasm in his brain. He feels Mikey's mouth on his ear, nibbling lightly, and the sensation tips him over the edge. He stops rubbing his cock and just holds it as he spurts into the panties.

Mikey releases him. Ryan lies there for a moment, recovering, breathing deeply, then opens his eyes. Mikey is looking down at the come-spattered panties. He thrusts against Ryan's hip, sliding against the wet cloth, and comes in just a few more minutes.

He rolls off onto his back, breathing hard. Ryan takes off the panties, drops them on the floor, and snuggles up to him. They both fall asleep instantly.

Ryan is vaguely aware of an alarm going off at some point, and Mikey reaching over him to turn it off, but he doesn't really wake up until the front door bangs open and Gerard barges into the bedroom, hollering, "Mikey! Are you seriously still asleep in here?"

Ryan starts to panic, because he doesn't want Gerard to see him in Mikey's bed and he _really_ doesn't want Gerard to see the come-soaked lingerie next to them, but there's no time to hide anything. Gerard stops dead just inside the door. "Oh, sorry," he says, then narrows his eyes. "Wait. That is not sex. That is _cuddling._ Mikey does not _cuddle._ Are you two actually dating?"

Mikey rubs his forehead, unfazed by the sudden intrusion. "I don't know," he says. "I think we might be."

There's not really much point denying it anymore, to them or himself. "Yeah," Ryan tells Gerard. "We are."

Gerard crosses his arms. "Great, that's awesome, I'm thrilled for you both. Mikey, you were supposed to be at Frank's an hour ago. I'll wait in the living room while you get dressed, all right?" He closes the door, then opens it again just long enough to point at the panties and add, "And for the love of Christ, soak those before the stains set or the satin will never be the same. Fucking hedonists, no respect for quality fabric."

The door closes again. Ryan rolls on top, bracketing Mikey's head with his elbows, and kisses him. Mikey kisses back deeply, wrapping his arms around Ryan's waist and holding him tight. He's going to have to get up and go soon, but Ryan wants a moment right now just for them.

He kisses down Mikey's neck and trails his tongue along his collarbone, spelling out "love" in elaborate cursive. Mikey might not be able to recognize the word, but it doesn't matter. Ryan just got up at five in the morning to put on women's underwear for him. Mikey knows.


End file.
